


Confession

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gun Violence, JayTim Week 2016, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick works night shifts at the precinct, and most nights, he stops by a small coffee shop before his shift. On the way out, he catches a glimpse of two faces that he knows from Gotham's most wanted lists. Jason Todd, wanted for several counts of murder, and Timothy Drake, his kidnapped victim. He has to follow them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to day 2! Confession! (That is both the prompt and the title; I was lazy; ah well.) Another to add to the list of 'my weird AUs'. (This one there may be more of somewhere down the road.) Enjoy!

"Alexandra, hey! How are you this fine night?"

The barista gives him a slightly strained smile, already pouring coffee into a cup for him, like she did the second that she saw him come in the door. It's a nightly thing; coffee as he heads to work to start his shift, to keep him awake all night. Not that he needs the help, not with the insanity that happens in Gotham on a pretty nightly basis, but it's pretty much habit at this point. He knows all the baristas that work these shifts, knows their names and bits of their lives, because this is by far the best coffee he's found in Gotham. So far, anyway.

"Long day," she says, with a glance down the length of the counter towards where the manager usually is. "Just about over though! Just an hour, you know?"

"Oh, I know," he says, smiling right back at her. He gives her the cost for the drink, takes the hot cup, winks, and pulls away. "Thanks, darling."

She gives him a shy smile back, and then heads for the door and shoulders it open, heading out into the world. He lifts his head, looks towards his car, and catches a flash of two people going by. Black hair, the curve of a rough grin, casual clothes on both of them. He takes another step, and then the faces register in his mind and he stops, turning to look at the backs of the two men. Short hair on the tall, broad-shouldered one, longer hair on the shorter one. He narrows his eyes, something tugging at the back of his mind, something…

_Wanted, Jason Todd, for several counts of murder and the kidnapping of orphan Timothy Drake._

He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening, and matches the glimpses of those faces to the posters of both murderer and kidnapped victim in his head. No way. No way he just _happened_ to stumble across two of the most wanted people in the city, while he's without his radio or an actual car to track them down in. He's got his badge, gun, and a pair of handcuffs, because this is _Gotham_ , and he could get a call through on his cell phone but… But what if he's wrong? Or what if they notice him do it and he gets Timothy hurt? What if one of the other people on the street gets in the way?

He's not involved in that investigation, but he thought the update on it was that they'd been spotted leaving the city. What happened to that? Was it just a play? Did they come back? What reason would Jason have had to come back to the city where he committed the crimes he's wanted for? Why not book it out of the state?

Something's going on.

He glances over at his car, then grits his teeth and makes a decision. He sets his cup of coffee on the windowsill of the place and goes after them. He knows how to follow someone, so he drags that info out of the back of his head and puts it to work, blending into crowds and keeping the pair of them in sight in the corner of his gaze. Not focusing on them, not directly looking at them.

Until suddenly Jason loops an arm around Timothy's waist and drags him in hard, making the smaller man stumble. He focuses, sees Jason's head turn and the sharp _snap_ of teeth as the murderer says something, leaning down to say it into the top of Timothy's head. It _screams_ of violence to him, to the trained part of him that always simmers just under the surface. He speeds up just a little, as Jason starts to drag the smaller man a little faster too, through the scattered people and off to the side.

He watches them duck into an alley, and forces himself not to run, not to chase after them. He can't attract the attention of anyone else, he can't get anyone else involved. Jason's killed — at least two people and suspected of more — and he's dangerous. Bystanders won't be safe if something happens; he's sure that Jason's got a weapon of some kind. Or at the least he has to treat it as a definite possibility.

He gets to the edge of the alley, taking a glance around to make sure that no one's looking directly at him before he peers around the wall. They're at the other end of the alley — it looks like it lets into _another_ alley, of all things — and he can barely see them in the darkness but he sees the jerk of movement as a smaller shadow gets shoved against the wall, and the larger one leans over it. He sucks in a sharp breath and goes down the alley as fast as he can without being too noisy, reaching for his gun and getting the safety off. Jason's crowding Timothy in, and he can see the pale skin of a throat, of Timothy's face.

He raises the gun and clicks the safety off, sliding his finger over the trigger and snapping, "Hey! Step away from him!"

Jason's head whips towards him, white teeth flashing, but doesn't move. He keeps moving closer, looking to get a better angle if he has to shoot, to minimize the chance of hitting Timothy. He ends up hugging the wall, seeing the narrowed slits of blue eyes and the glare on Jason's face. He keeps a good slice of his attention on the arms Jason has pressed against the wall to trap his victim, making sure they don't really move.

"Step _back_ ," he orders. "Timothy, my name is Officer Dick Grayson, I'm with the GCPD. You're gonna be alright, I promise. Jason Todd, you're wanted for four separate murders over the last two months as well as the kidnapping of Timothy Drake, you _step away from him_ or I will put a bullet in you, is that clear?"

Jason _snarls_ , but then shoves out a breath and steps back, hands rising as he backs away and towards the middle of the alley. He keeps the gun carefully trained on him, moving away from the wall and following him out.

"On the ground," he orders. "On your stomach, hands on your head."

Jason's gaze flickers towards Tim, but then he does drop down to his knees, and finally all the way to the ground. He waits till those hands come up and press down into black hair before he moves, circling around to drop his weight down through a hard knee to the murderer's back. He gets a rush of air, and presses the muzzle of the gun to Jason's back as he digs into his coat pocket for the handcuffs he keeps. Can never be too prepared in Gotham. He gets a breathless snarl as he cuffs one of Jason's wrists, and then drags both arms to his back to get the other wrist locked in too. He's not at all gentle about shoving his knee harder into Jason's back to get back up.

"Stay down," he snaps, keeping the gun trained down at him as he takes a couple steps backwards, looking up to his victim.

Timothy is pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest, blue eyes wide and scared. That gaze is flicking between him, Jason, and the gun, apparently not sure where to focus. The kid — not technically a kid; he's eighteen — looks terrified, looks too scared to move, let alone run like he should be. With the way Jason was leaning over him, the physical closeness… He's not entirely sure he wants to know what the kid's been subjected to over the last couple months.

"Hey," he starts, keeping his voice low and soft, soothing. "You're safe, buddy. Look; he's down, he's not going anywhere. Whatever he's done to you, whatever you've been put through, it's going to be okay. He's going to prison, Timothy, and you can go back home. You hear me? You can go _home_."

Timothy's eyes tear up, and then the kid is darting forward, pressing against his side. He blinks in surprise, feeling the grasp of fingers in his shirt, the hard press of a head near his shoulder. Concern wars with caution, so he compromises and lets go of the gun with one hand, keeping it aimed down as he wraps the other around Timothy's back, gently holding him.

"It's okay," he murmurs, stroking Timothy's back. "You're going to—”

Rigid fingers jab into the front of his throat, and he chokes on his words and air, eyes widening at the sudden attack. Before he can even finish jerking backwards there's a hand on his wrist, twisting the gun from his hand with precise, painful pressure points, and a foot kicking the back of one knee and knocking him down. He gasps a breath, looks _up_ , and the butt of the gun slams across his face.

He hits the ground, stunned and still choking, and a foot kicks him onto his back. Fingers dig into his coat pockets, and he hears the jingle as the keys to the handcuffs get retrieved.

"Well look at that," a calm, amused voice murmurs. "It looks like I'm alright."

He gets his eyes open against the throbbing at his temple, looks up, and it's _Timothy Drake_ standing over him, far enough back to be out of range and holding the gun in a practiced, double-handed grip. His keys are dangling from one finger, and he stares in shock, trying to get past the convulsive swallowing as his throat tries to make itself work again. He's getting little gasps of air, but nothing deep yet.

Timothy clicks his tongue, and his eyes dart to the side as Jason pushes up and to his feet, surprisingly graceful for having his hands cuffed behind him. He walks over, and Tim takes a hand off the gun just long enough to hand his kidnapper — _partner?_ — the keys. Jason seems remarkably practiced at unlocking the cuffs himself, and it's only a few seconds before they fall loose and Jason's shoulders roll forward in a small stretch.

"What?" he manages, gasping out the word as he starts to crawl backwards.

" _Ah_ ," Timothy reprimands, voice sharp and both hands back on the gun that's aimed somewhere around the level of his hips. "You're going to stay nice and still, Officer Grayson. It's better for your health." Jason is standing at Timothy's shoulder, _towering_ over the smaller man but the way he's looking down at Tim is… It definitely doesn't look like the gaze of a man twice the size of his kidnapping victim. "Jason," Timothy says, with a satisfied curl to his voice, "cuff Officer Grayson. Behind his back I think, and go ahead and tie his legs too; I don't care what you use."

The gun stays completely still, and he grits his teeth and just shivers as Jason — six feet of muscle and violence, and caught on camera stabbing one victim and strangling another — snaps to obey, circling over and grabbing his wrists. Jason also stays carefully out of the line of fire of that gun, so he has no real choice but to lie still and let the bigger man cuff his wrists at the small of his back. He shudders again when Jason flips him over again and onto his back, hands lowering and pulling his _fucking_ belt off to cinch it tight around his ankles.

"Pat him down," Timothy orders, watching him with that same calm amusement. "Bring me everything in his pockets."

He grits his teeth as Jason turns up his phone, wallet, badge, and keys. Then asks, "What's going on? Timothy—”

"It's Tim, actually," the apparent victim says, and then gives a little flash of a smile. "And you, why you're _Dick Grayson_ , the ward of Bruce Wayne. I'd heard you became a cop; strange lifestyle choice from someone who's heir to enough money to never work a day in his life, but to each their own, I suppose." Jason goes back to him, and Tim takes a glance at the different items. "Hm. Toss the phone; keep the rest for now."

Instantly, his phone is being flung across the alley, and he stares as it shatters into pieces against the opposite wall. He tugs against his own cuffs, the belt, but doesn't get anywhere. Jason still has the keys to the cuffs, and he hasn't got a pick on him. That's a problem.

Then Tim lowers the gun, clicking the safety on with a practiced touch and removing his finger from inside the trigger guard. At his confused look, Tim just _smiles_. "It's amazing what you can get people to teach you when you're a millionaire, legally emancipated, genius teenager with no parental supervision.”

Jason steps closer, pressing up against Tim’s back and sliding a hand around his waist, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the side of the smaller man’s throat. Everything clicks together with painful clarity, every sense telling him something is wrong suddenly coming together and he just _knows_.

“You were never kidnapped,” he breathes, “you just went with him.” He swallows, switching tracks as he lowers his voice and says, “Tim, think about this, please. He’s not a good person; he’s a killer.”

Tim smiles, and there’s something wrong about it, something still doesn’t feel right. “I know,” Tim says easily. “He’s _very_ useful; all that strength, violence, passion…” The fingers on Tim’s free hand snap, and instantly Jason is dropping, kneeling at his partner’s side. “All mine, aren’t you, boy?”

Jason’s mouth curves in a grin, looking up with obvious _desire_. “Always, babe.” One of Jason’s hands reaches out, rubbing along the back of Tim’s calf, and those blue eyes turn to him. “What do you want me to do with him?”

He stares in shock, in a certain kind of horror, because as far as he knows they’ve never even considered the possibility that Timothy Drake might be another _killer_ , not a victim. But the way Tim is smiling at him, the way Jason looks like nothing so much as some kind of attack dog, kneeling there by the smaller man's legs… It looks more than possible, it looks _definite_.

"Good question," Tim says, one hand rising to comb through Jason's hair, pale fingers tugging lightly at the black hair. "We can hardly let you go, not after what you've learned. I rather value the whole kidnapping front of this; keeps police like you from thinking of me as a threat. You can understand how that's rather valuable to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, all too vivid images flashing in his head of the security footage, of the hard clench of fingers around a vulnerable throat. Brains behind it or not, Jason's strong, he's dangerous, he's _killed_.

Tim's head tilts, and then he pats the top of Jason's head and orders, "Kill him."

He shouts in panic as Jason lunges at him, twisting and kicking his bound legs out with all the force he can muster. It catches Jason's shoulder, but not enough to do more than spin the killer a couple inches, and then his legs are being grabbed and used to twist and slam him onto his chest. He struggles, shouting right up until one powerful, muscled arm hooks around his throat, dragging him up tight against an equally powerful chest. He chokes, thrashing, and that arm tightens until he can't breathe, can't _think_.

It's a hysterical thought that he's about to die at the order of an eighteen year old murderer, at the hands of his _attack dog_ of a human. Of all the insane ways he thought he might die — _Gotham_ — this never even started to occur to him. Bullets, bats, claws, _swords_ , sure, but not this. Not like _this_.

He jerks, world fading around the edges, throat uselessly trying to work underneath the crushing grip of the arm around it. His eyes start to roll back, strength leaving him with the last of his air, and he—

" _Stop_."

He's released and he collapses, face pressing into the alley floor as he gasps in a deep breath and immediately coughs it out again. He shakes, trying to just _breathe_ , to get air past the clenching convulsions of his throat, past the _pain_. _Fear_ is sharp in his chest, and he flinches away when a hand wraps in his hair and pulls his face away from the asphalt and the ground-in dirt of it.

"Then again," Tim's voice continues, from higher up above him, and just as cool as it was before, "killing a policeman would launch quite the hunt for us. Even more than the investigation we already have. I understand that cops take it rather personally when one of their own is murdered."

He drags in a harsh breath, and then manages to get out a hoarse, "Whole city will hunt you," as he looks up, finding the thin figure of Tim standing over him. Jason must be at his back still. God, the _control_ he must have, to call Jason off just like that. In a _second_.

"Quite the predicament then," Tim says, with a smile more obviously cruel than his last one. "What do you think, Jason? Do you like him?"

He gets a moment of confusion, before Jason is tugging at his hair and arching his throat, commenting, "He's pretty." Then there's suddenly a hand at his back, sliding down and groping his ass, and he curves away and gives a rough yelp that almost instantly dies in his abused throat. "Good ass. Do you like him?"

"I wouldn't have even asked if I didn't. Gag him, then go get his car; it's more under the radar than ours."

There's a moment of silence, a moment of stillness, and then Jason asks, "With _what?_ "

Another moment. "Fair point." Tim moves, and then his head is getting yanked back by Jason's grip, hard enough he ends up on his back. He gasps, and there's _metal_ shoving between his teeth, the taste of polish and gunpowder, and his eyes go very, very _wide_. "Go get the car. Pull it in here."

He chokes, frozen stiff at the threat of the _gun_ in his mouth, shoved far enough in that it's just grazing the back of his throat and the trigger guard is pressed to his bottom lip.

Jason's hand leaves his hair, and then there's a murmured, "Fuck, that's _hot_ , babe," before departing footsteps.

Tim is watching him, gaze amused and mouth curled in a little smirk. "So, while we have a moment alone, I'm going to tell you a few key rules. Firstly, Jason is _mine_. He always will be. Try and change that, and you'll pay for it. Once we get some time to ourselves, you'll understand why you'll want to avoid upsetting me." He makes a strangled, pleading noise when Tim clicks the safety off again. "Second; if you try to escape, if you try to draw attention, other people will get hurt, Officer Grayson. I'm sure you don't want their deaths on your conscious; Jason's quite an accomplished killer now. You might die too, but count on the fact that I am perfectly willing to hurt or kill innocent people to punish you. If I tell him to, so is Jason. How much you want to test my rules is entirely up to you, pet."

There's the rumble of an engine, and Tim looks up. _Smiles_.

He coughs as the gun leaves his mouth, swallowing to try and get that taste out of his mouth. He flinches at the brush of the muzzle against his jaw, gasps in a breath and bites down on his tongue because he has no _idea_ what might come out of his mouth if he tries to say anything.

Footsteps, and then Tim is drawing away from him and standing back up. "I'll drive. The two of you in the backseat, so you can make sure he doesn't try anything."

Jason moves into his field of vision, and comes right up next to Tim, looping an arm around his back, leaning down, and then they're kissing. Slow, _deep_ , one of Jason's hands sliding into Tim's hair and pulling him farther up. Despite the situation he ends up averting his eyes, twisting on the ground and shivering, looking around. His car's not far, still running, lights off and blocking their part of the alley from any curious eyes.

He could shout. It might get someone to investigate, if he's lucky. But then he remembers Tim's promise, remembers the strength in Jason's hands and the easy familiarity that Tim holds a gun with. _No_ , he can't. Innocent people would die.

Tim's laughing, low and decidedly _creepy_ , and he looks back up. It's in time to catch Tim twisting Jason's hair between his fingers, pulling and Jason sinks _easily_ to his knees. Tim leans in, pressing a kiss to Jason's forehead, and whispers, "Good boy." Then that grip loosens, and Tim is heading for the car, leaving Jason on his knees and him on the ground.

Jason looks over at him, and _grins_.


End file.
